


Gifts, Stolen and Received

by nagia



Series: children's voices should be dear [4]
Category: Labyrinth (1986), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/M, Harry/Rent Money, I am a terrible person for this, you are not going to thank me for the way this ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/pseuds/nagia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's my step-daughter," she said, eyes wet with tears and hands trembling with fear.  I heard a rush of air as if a thousand fairy tales had been turned upside down at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If being Chicago's only professional wizard meant I could mess with the weather, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. Rain pounded and lashed and shrieked at the windows. It had seemed to fall endlessly for the past three days.  
  
At this point, I was almost sure that getting rid of the rain would have been a public service. Gutters were overflowing; streets had begun to flood. I didn't even want to think about what was happening on the subway, not that I used it much.  
  
But getting rid of the rain, though it might have improved my mood, would not pay nearly as well as the woman sitting across from me promised to.  
  
She was a blue-eyed blonde. I suspected that at this point in her life, the golden hair came from a bottle, but her eyes were a steady, natural color. I'd heard talk about blue eyes seeming 'clear' before, but Irene Williams was the first person I'd ever met whose eyes seemed  _crisp_.  
  
"It's my step-daughter," she said, eyes wet with tears and hands trembling with fear. I heard a rush of air as if a thousand fairy tales had been turned upside down at once.  
  
"Your step-daughter," I said, and was very glad Bob wasn't around.  
  
The woman reached for the box of tissues I kept on my desk. I slid them toward her and waited. You'd be surprised what people with problems will say to fill the silence.  
  
But Irene didn't say anything. She just blotted her eyes, blew her nose, and dropped the tissue in the wastebasket.  
  
I waited some more.   
  
She used another tissue.  
  
I'm a wizard, not a saint. I reserve the right to be grumpy and lose patience. So I said, as gently as I could, "And by 'it,' you mean...?"  
  
"My step-daughter is the Goblin Queen."  
  
I had a sudden urge not only to tell Irene Williams to get out of my office, but to nail cold-forged horseshoes over every door and window in my home. I thought lovingly about cold iron and salt, but my stomach thought lovingly about deep dish pizza and buffalo wings.  
  
Those aren't free. Neither is rent. And I can't just magic up a roof to cover my head.  
  
So rather than 'Get the hell out of my office and take your insane faerie problems with you and try to forget you ever even heard my name,' I said, "Your step-daughter is the Erlkoenigin."  
  
"No. Well, maybe. I don't know what that means." Irene blotted her eyes again. "Do you know Jareth?"  
  
"Can't say that I do," I said, wracking my brains trying to find a link between 'Jareth' and 'Goblin Queen.'  
  
I did remember hearing, about a year ago, that some little-liked Lord of the Nevernever had taken a mortal bride. The process had made her something more than human and less than sidhe. The Winter Court had been up in arms, the Summer Court had been all in favor...  
  
"He's the Goblin King," Irene whispered. "We've tried to understand. Sarah says was desperate. She was only twenty years old, she says we almost died in a car crash. She made a deal with him to save us."  
  
I almost whistled. The girl had to have been one powerful practicioner if she could summon up the elusive Goblin King at the tender age of twenty.  
  
Speaking of.  
  
"How did she even know to make a deal with him?"  
  
Irene's mouth twisted into a brittle, ironic smile. Her lips said, "She wished away her younger brother six years ago."  
  
Her expression said, 'Would you fucking believe it?'  
  
"And the Goblin King took him?"  
  
"For thirteen hours. But Sarah won him back. At least until now." Irene shuddered. "She made a bad bargain. I don't really blame her for it; she would have been much too young to look after Toby. Much too young to lose her father."  
  
I noticed, though I politely pretended I hadn't, that Irene didn't mention not wanting to die. Was she trying to make sure I was sympathetic to her step-daughter, or was her life enough of a living hell that she wished Sarah had never made her devil's bargain?  
  
I played obtuse. "The Goblin King wants Toby again?"  
  
Irene shook her head. "No, no. Sarah's bargain is that she can only return here to visit Toby. My son. Her half-brother. If Toby ever forgets her, or if she ever can't find him, she'll have to stay in the Labyrinth."  
  
And things began to fall into place. I promise, I'm not nearly as dumb as I look. Or as Thomas says I look.  
  
For those of you keeping score at home, my name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. I'm the only professional wizard in Chicago, and the only public, open wizard I know of in North America.  
  
I wouldn't actually pit myself against a fae king, but I knew enough of how Faerie worked to have a good idea of what was going on.  
  
Thing is, I wouldn't want to tangle with a once-mortal Goblin Queen, either.  
  
Just to make sure I was very, very wrong, I asked, "Okay, how about you start from the beginning? I've never heard of a fifteen year old being able to summon faerie lords."  
  
Irene shrugged helplessly. "By all accounts, Linda — Sarah's mother — was… well, she was the one who insisted that Sarah's middle name be 'Galadriel.' And she had this red leather-bound book called _Labyrinth_. It was her prized possession. These are all things that David or Sarah have told me, by the way."  
  
Galadriel? Oh, ouch. That would draw the attention of any faerie who'd been paying attention to mortals in the last fifty years.  
  
Irene kept on. "David says Sarah was different before the divorce. She had been practical where her mother was flighty. Less interested in fairy tales. But then Sarah spent two years with her mother. She came back very quiet, very withdrawn, and with a red book called  _Labyrinth_."  
  
I'd never heard of it. But there's a lot of things I haven't heard of. I said nothing.  
  
"David thinks it was some sort of bribe or payment or something. That she gave it to Sarah out of guilt. That book is how she knew about the goblins, how she knew to make her first wish." Irene blotted away more tears. "We didn't get along in those days. One night, when we were out, she used it. She won Toby back, of course, but the King apparently asked her to stay with him."  
  
I wanted to ask why David Williams thought the book was a bribe, but I was a bit caught up in the idea that the Goblin King had asked a fifteen year old girl to stay in his kingdom. As a rule, faeries look at us like we're mayflies: kind of icky, don't live long, tend to get caught in weird nasty lumps. It's pretty rare for an adult human to catch a faerie lord's interest (though it's rarer for the interest to last longer than a season).  
  
I've definitely never heard of faeries being attracted to withdrawn jailbait. At least, not the 'marry me and live forever in my magical kingdom' kind of attracted.  
  
"Fast forward… what, five years? You and David nearly die in a car crash, Sarah makes a desperate bargain, and now Toby is her only window to the world she used to live in?"  
  
Sounded like undiluted, high octane faerie cruelty. And just a touch of their very sharp, very unkind kindness: after all, Sarah got what she asked for. And as the days and seasons and years passed, her inhumanity and isolation from the mortal world would matter less and less to her.  
  
"At first, her visits didn't bother us. We would just reset our electronics when she left. But then she started bringing these... these fairy godmother  _gifts_."  
  
I didn't ask what Irene meant by that. I assumed she was thinking of the fairy godmothers in  _Sleeping Beauty_. At least, I hoped she was; my own fairy godmother is crazier than a sack of meth-addicted weasels with their tails on fire. God only knows what kind of gifts she would bring me (and god only knows how I'd get rid of them).   
  
At my expression, Irene gave the brittle, ironic smile again. "You know. 'Do you want glasses, Toby? Then you'll never need them.' 'You'll never be clumsy again.' 'You'll never lose your socks or any other small item.' That sort of thing."  
  
Yep, definitely  _Sleeping Beauty_  type fairy godmothers. Lea's would probably involve the blood of my enemies. Or her Queen's enemies.  
  
"And now Toby's starting to do it too. With the electronics, I mean. He can't even touch my laptop and I have to make very sure to keep my smart phone away from him. And really, he's my son. I wouldn't mind so much if..." Irene wrung her hands, looked away. At last, time for the dramatic reveal.  
  
In barely a whisper, Irene said, "Dave has a pacemaker now."


	2. Chapter 2

Well. That put a hell of a lot into perspective. Like, for example, the crying. Also her near desperation.

Even a single faerie gift would leave a mark. One volt of magic, so to speak. But give him big enough gifts, or give him enough of them, or God forbid do both, and… well, the charge would build. And the greater the charge, the greater Toby's potential effect on his father's life expectancy.

It had to be one of the crueler cuts of Sarah's new nature. I doubted it was even intentional. She was trying to stay in his life, trying to make sure he wouldn't forget her, so she'd always have a window. So she'd have a way and a reason and the Goblin King's permission to leave the Nevernever.

And I wasn't sure there was a damned thing I could do.

"I see," I said. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams, but I'm not sure what you want me to do."

That sent Irene reaching for the tissues again. "Can't you just… talk sense into her? You're a wizard. She might listen to you better than she does us."

I wanted to laugh. Wizard or not, I was still human. More importantly, I was still mortal. And if supernatural scuttlebutt was right, Sarah was something Else, now. She'd have about as much patience for the words and so-called wisdom of a mere mortal as her King would. Maybe slightly more.

Thing was, I didn't like taking people's money when I couldn't solve their problems.

"I'm willing to pay up front for your best effort," Irene said. "I'm not expecting a miracle. I just — I just need to know it's been tried."

"You've got another plan up your sleeve," I said.

"Moving house," Irene said, very softly. "And never speaking her name again. Never alluding to her. David is packing away all our pictures of her, all her old things..."

I repressed a shudder at the thought. Human minds aren't made to handle the Nevernever. We can deal with it in short bursts, but it's far too alien, far too illogical, for us to really process. The thought of a once-mortal Goblin Queen trapped inside it, forever stewing over the brother who'd forgotten her? Going crazier and crazier all the while?

That was a consequence that didn't bear thinking about. 

"I don't recommend that," I told her. "I understand that you feel you have to in order to keep your son and your husband safe, but I would really try to avoid making the Goblin Queen my enemy."

Actually, the Goblin Queen was far too young to have much of a reputation. But pissing off faeries was not a thing undertaken lightly. I'd know; I've made tweaking the noses of the powerful into part and parcel of my reputation. At a meeting with Harry Dresden, anyone of stature expects to be made fun of.

But these were "mere" mortals, and the Goblin Queen had a very old, very ill-reputed husband with very little incentive to keep David and Irene Williams alive. Never mind refrain from torturing them into madness or worse.

"So what would you do?"

I sighed and reached into one of my desk drawers. I had a cold-forged horseshoe in there, which I handed over. "Tell your husband to wear that around his neck. That should protect him from her magic."

"That's it? A lucky horseshoe?"

"It's cold iron," I said, feeling my temper fray. "Fae are wounded by cold iron, so he shouldn't touch her while he's wearing it. Try to come to some kind of… visitation agreement." 

"Visitation," Irene said. Her voice had the light, brittle quality of someone who didn't quite believe what she was hearing.

I sighed. I was ten years younger than her at least, but I felt old. I was older and wiser in the ways of the supernatural, at least.

"Listen. You can't run from her. She's not quite human anymore; if you run, she'll _have_ to chase you. Not to mention, if you give her an axe to grind, it's her _very scary husband_ who will bring it down on your heads."

Irene stared at me.

I used very small words to explain: "He granted her wishes when she was fifteen. He married her when she was twenty. He's made her something more than human. There is no way he doesn't love her, in some twisted fae sense. You piss her off enough, or harm her, and he's oath-bound as her husband to 'defend' her, and that won't be pretty."

"Alright," Irene said. "Alright. Cold iron and visitation. Just… please, just talk to her first?"

"Okay," I said.

* * *

Looking back, I'm really kicking myself for not telling Irene Williams to get the hell out of my office at the words 'Goblin Queen.'

* * *

Just two days later, Irene Williams called me. I headed out to the address she'd given me.

There I found a strangely stunning brunette lifting a young boy into the air. His hair was blond — though in a shade that suggested it would soon darken to brown — and his eyes were blue. The brunette's face had striking angular lines, thanks to high cheekbones, softened by a full mouth and an overall round face shape. But in the boy's face I saw none of that softness: just a surprisingly sharp jaw for a child and cheekbones he could have cut someone with. Sarah and Toby, I assumed.

Sarah had her hands wrapped around his chest, thumbs digging in just above his armpits and fingers digging into his back. Her arms formed straight parallel lines. When she twirled — and of course she twirled, nobody lifted a kid in the air like that and didn't twirl — her hair fanned and flew. They were both laughing; I heard normal, girlish giggles and a strange, ringing, fluting laugh.

Then she caught sight of me, and her eyes narrowed.

"You're the wizard Dresden," she said. The breathy giggling was gone from her voice. Instead all I heard was something hard and brittle.

I looked away from her eyes. They'd been green as summer grass, but I didn't dare soulgaze her.

When I looked back to her, she'd set Toby down on the ground. I watched her flck her wrist. A chocolate bar appeared in her hands. Sarah broke off half of it and said, "Ludo's looking for you, Toby."

Toby took the chocolate in one fist and scampered away. For the best, really. I hoped the shrill noises he made were sounds of delight and not terror.

"I assume you're the Goblin Queen?"

"Here," she said, "I'm Sarah."

Okay, that was a good sign. Sticking to human name in the human world probably meant —

And then she aded, "Most of the time."

There is not actually enough money in the world for me to deal with this, I thought. Naturally, I said something more flattering, probably about not having the words to describe her beauty and benevolence, and who or what was Ludo. I don't remember what I said. I was a little distracted trying to figure her out.

I've seen some beautiful women. I've seen some beautiful fae women. But the thing that strikes me most about the Goblin Queen — even now — is how _normal_ she seemed. Brown hair, pale complexion, freckles on her nose. Eyes that were both green and pale enough to fall into (I tried not to look too long). She was wearing a tee shirt and jeans, and the only sign that she was a Queen in the Nevernever was a crown of sea shells and looped wire. Every so often what looked like sea glass but was maybe just glass-glass, like marbles, glinted from it. It wasn't a fancy royal crown, either, just a simple loop she'd thrown on over her head.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and if it hadn't been for that damnable crown and my lizard brain telling me that if I started running right now she might lose interest in the chase, she'd have looked totally normal. Just a defensive twentysomething.

"I'm not giving up the right to see him."

"I'm not asking you to give up Toby," I said. I tried to spread my hands soothingly. "But your magic could kill your father."

"And staying trapped Underground all the time could kill me," she snapped.

Melodrama. Hoo boy. "It's not going to kill you."

"It's only forever," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Not long at all."

I goggled. Had she just started singing?

A smile curved across her lips. "Offer me something, Harry Dresden."

This was boding less and less well. "How about a way to make sure you get to visit the mortal world, and your father doesn't die?"

"You gave my step-mother cold iron." Sarah raised an eyebrow. "The first thing she did when I showed up was brandish it in my face and tell me it meant I couldn't hurt Dad. Like I'd even want to."

"Sarah, he has a pacemaker. Your magic could cause it to malfunction, or even just stop working."

She raised an eyebrow. It wasn't an expression that meant she was waiting to hear my offer. It was an expression asking why she should _care_.

I got the sudden sinking feeling that she was only really human with Toby anymore. And I wondered how long it would be until that faded, too.

"Sarah, do you want your father to die?"

She drew herself up and tossed some of her hair over her shoulders. "This conversation is over."

"I really don't think —"

"It's further than you think," she whispered, her eyes falling half-lidded and then closed, "and time is short."

And then she was gone, leaving me to wonder if this was at all worth the money. If Lea got wind that I was involving myself in the affairs of Faerie or the Wyldfae without her support, it wasn't worth all the money in the world. Hopefully, my luck so far would hold, and Sarah wouldn't know that if she wanted me the hell out of her business, all she had to do was talk to the Leanansidhe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather heavy on Labyrinth characters. I'd apologize, but Murphy meets the Area.

I didn't hear from Lea over the next few days. As time passes differently in Faerie, that really wasn't much of a comfort.

I talked to Bob, but he didn't have much to say. Apparently the Goblin King who recently got married is a separate figure from the Erlkoenig I know, love, and never want to meet again.

"The Erlkoenig's a Summer entity. The Goblin King is different. For one, we're talking different definitions of goblins. For another, we're talking a whole other power source. In his pants." Bob leered. How he leers, I will never know. Or want to know. "He's the King of the Fifth Season."

"Fifth Season?"

"An old German idea," Bob said. "Maybe extends back to pre-Norse. The season of lost, forgotten, or broken things. Things thrown away."

"Any info on the guy personally? Does he have any allies or enemies? How crazy is he?"

Bob gave a disembodied shrug. "You're asking the wrong spirit, Harry. That's pretty much all I know."

It wasn't as un-helpful as it could have been. It just didn't actually help me.

* * *

Two days after that, I was reading in my office. The Twilight series, if you must know. I couldn't decide whether to laugh hysterically or be appalled.

"Cold iron, Wizard Dresden?" The voice was smooth, urbane. There was an English softeness to the consonants, an accent the Monty Python nerd in me couldn't place, except 'not Cockney' and 'not Australian'.

"It was to protect the husband," I groused. "I didn't think Irene would really be stupid enough to wave it in Sa — her step-daughter's face as some kind of taunt."

"Lord, what fools these mortals be."

The Sidhe get a lot of mileage out of that one. I decided not to rise to the bait.

Apparently that was the right choice. After a moment, the Goblin King stepped out of shadow. I flashed back to the eighties: bad fantasy movies, big hair, glitter, tight pants. The armor was actually kind of a cool look, in a 'fairytale comics have come to life' sort of way. A ragged cape topped with owl feathers, very pointy shoes that were probably for kicking things that annoyed him.

The hair, though? Half mop, half mullet, all crazy.

"Sarah," the Goblin King said — and he said her name like it was both painful and precious — "is far more than that odious woman's step-daughter. Have you informed that foolish family they are in grave danger of making their own monster?"

"Haven't had the chance yet. But I never meant for the Goblin Queen to be hurt or threatened."

"Only de-clawed." He bared his teeth. They looked sharp. I noticed that the pupil of his left eye was blown, giving him a lopsided, batshit insane sort of look. "And with her… inexperience, de-clawed is dangerous." 

I had a premonition of pain.

The Goblin King crossed to stand in front of my desk. He leaned over it, bracing his palms flat on the wood. But the effect was lost: standing at full height, he was shorter than I was. "Do you swear to me that you mean my wife no harm despite any prior acts to the contrary?"

Shit, shit, and double shit. 

"I swear," I said carefully, "that my only goal in this case is to make sure Sarah is able to see her brother without accidentally killing her father."

"You accuse her of being a kinslayer?"

I swear there was innuendo in that question. I know there is aboslutely nothing to imply about it, but I stll swear there was innuendo.

"She's a magical being," I said softly. "And he has a pacemaker."

The Goblin King tilted his head. He was wearing eyeshadow. "Pacemaker?"

"A very small, very finicky device we place in the heart to make sure the heart only beats the way it should."

He considered that for a moment, then nodded his head. He gave me a considering look, and yet seemed somehow amused by what he saw.

I'm not sure I'll ever understand how fae think.

"You will not consider this matter concluded," the Goblin King said, pointing at me, "until Sarah is able to see Toby whenever she wishes."

"In exchange for what?" Not a smart idea, but the fae don't like debts. And having a Goblin King who didn't think he owed me was far, far preferable to one who did.

"In exchange," he sneered, "I will not ask you the Goblin Queen's full name… and thus will not be oath-bound to remove you from every possible plane of existence. "

* * *

Just because I wasn't supposed to consider the matter concluded didn't mean I would work on it every waking moment. For one, there was no arguing with the kind of self-destructive tendencies Irene Williams was displaying. They were born of fear. For another, I was no longer in her employ. She'd told me as much when she thanked (and paid) me for my attempt at negotiating with Sarah.

So I did some consulting with Karrin Murphy. She's the head of Chicago's SI, Special Investigations. 

Funny, to think she and I had been handling the weird together since the same year Sarah had —

Goblin Queen. Goblin Queen, I reminded myself. Best not to call her by name even in my thoughts.

For oncee we weren't handling a murder. Not that the disappearance of a child from its cradle is much better.

What was worse was, the parents insisted they didn't have a second child. CPS records were sure they did, parents were sure they didn't, and their son was surprisingly closemouthed.

"Doesn't make a lick of sense, Dresden," Murphy said as we fled the crime scene.

"No," I agreed. 

"Do you have anything?"

I thought for several long, silent moments about what I knew of child-stealers. For one, they usually leave something behind to replace the child — only one child-stealer I know of removes the child entirely and usually even the memory of the child. This one was done almost neatly, with the parents unable to recall and the remaining child refusing to weigh in on one side or the other. Only that tiny piece of Child Protective Services paperwork remained to give any genuine indication that there had ever been an Eliza McPherson.

Not one but two dangerous child-snatchers had been in Chicago in the past three days. At least one of them was probably keeping a sharp eye on me to make sure I stayed the hell out of his way.

But it was the other I suspected. And if it was Sarah, and if Sarah had in fact botched the job the way I thought she had, then neither she nor her husband would appreciate me sticking my nose in. They might fail to appreciate it so much that if I stuck my nose in, I wouldn't be getting my nose _back_.

It's never pleasant when the debate comes to down to "do what's right" and "do something that is guaranteed not to end in a messy death."

And for the first time in our partnership that I could recall, I considered truly lying to Karrin Murphy. 

I didn't. I haven't yet. I don't intend to start.

So I said, "I don't think we can solve this one. Not the way you'd like to."

Murphy stared at me like I'd gone crazy.

"If this was done by the people I think it was done by, they gave somebody in that family the chance to keep the baby." For Sidhe, that was fair play. "Since whoever challenged them lost, they're not going to give the kid up without a fight. A fight I, quite frankly, probably can't win."

"Is there any way to negotiate?"

I almost laughed. I didn't, though. Because yes, I'd heard of bargains made with the Goblin King. I just didn't have anything to trade. Not yet.

"Maybe," I said. "But not now. And by the time I have any leverage, it may be too late."

"Stealing children," Murphy spat. "Can you at least get me in touch with whoever did this?"

The thought of Karrin Murphy — bubbly-looking, blonde, tiny Karrin Murphy — staring down the Goblin King in all his The-Eighties-Called-They-Want-Their-Look-Back menacing glory was too absurd for words. It was a mental image I would cherish until the end of my days.

Or it would have been, if it hadn't scared the bejeezus out of me.

Was I afraid of the Goblin King? Oh yes. And his little Queen too.

I'm still afraid of them. I don't think the idea of confronting them will ever leave me in anything but gibbering terror. I'm pretty sure that's a sign that I'm not crazy or suicidal. I'd have no less a reaction to the thought of fighting Queen Mab or the Erlkoenig.

But summoning to ask questions was not the same as fighting. Especially not by Sidhe standards.

I sighed. "Alright, then I'm going to need a baby's blanket — used by an actual baby and it's best if it was hand-crafted — and a barn owl feather."

* * *

I shouldn't have done it. Trust me, I am still kicking myself for not bowing out the minute I heard the words 'Goblin Queen.'

This entire case is a comedy of errors, where we mortals are concerned. I made the mistake of thinking I could help. Murphy made the mistake of thinking mortal law would have any significance in the eyes of a Sidhe.

David and Irene...

I don't know what I'm sorrier for: that I got involved and had to watch them make their mistakes, or that their mistakes cost them so much.

If they had only listened, even once. 

I know I tend to lunge around like a bull in a china shop, seeming to make enemies with as little effort as breathing. But I have turned pissing off powerful otherworldly entities into a science as simple as cooking.

Quite frankly, it takes me a hell of a lot less effort to make an enemy for the rest of my mortal life than it does to make an omelette.

But at least I know the difference. Looking back, I'm honestly not sure they did.

* * *

I pulled back the carpet in my office and traced lines on the floor in chalk. Normally, I'd do this in my lab, but Murphy wanted the chance to talk to the Sidhe I was about to summon. Best to do it here, away from her threshold and mine.

I poured salt over the circle I'd traced.

After a few moments, I dropped a barn owl feather and Karrin Murphy's own swaddling quilt from her childhood into the center of the circle. I folded the quilt into neat triangles so there'd be enough room in the circle for a man to stand on without standing on the catalysts.

"Goblin King, I wish to speak to you."

Nothing happened.

"I wish to speak to the Goblin King."

Oh, come on. This was getting ridiculous.

"I wish the Goblin King would come here and talk to me _right now_."

Fog squelched up against the glass of my fifth-story windows. I shivered against a sudden autumnal cold. An odd, nagging sensation itched at the back of my head, like I'd forgotten something.

"Do you really think," drawled the unholy son of glam rock, punk, and Dungeons and Dragons who called himself the Goblin King, "that I have time to be bothered with your foolish mortal questions, Dresden?"

He hadn't actually appeared yet. Part of me wondered how Murphy would react.

I never got the chance to point out that he was here, so apparently he did have the time.

"Eyes off him, Goblin King," said Murphy. "I asked him to call you here."

And then His Glittery Highness was standing in the circle. Yet again he wore the cloak with the white feathers, yet again he wore pants that were frighteningly tight (no lack of confidence in him). His armor was another mixture of eighties glam rock met high fantasy novel, this time in deep blue.

Murphy's reaction was to give him a subtle once-over, an unsubtle second-over, and a blatant stare for a third-over. For a moment, her eyes drifted down and then back up. 

" _You're_ a king?!"

"Depending on where you're talking about," he said, tone surprisingly nonchalant, "I'm _the_ King."

The sudden mental image of the Goblin King dressed as Elvis — which, while horrible, was actually sort of fitting considering his habit of manifesting as a medieval rock star — filled my brain. I repressed a shudder and set aside a time in my pencilled-in mental day planner to scrub out that thought.

That was about when I started wanting to hide under my desk. Pity I was too big for it to actually conceal me. And it wasn't even from the absolutely appropriate pants wetting terror (I'm man enough to admit to that). I wanted to hide from the sheer absurdity and the embarrassment, too.

"And you stole Eliza McPherson?"

The Goblin King didn't even hesitate before saying, "I don't usually empty the cradle myself... so no."

"Was she taken on your order?" Murphy's gaze dipped down again before she tried to valiantly to meet the Goblin King's insane, lopsided gaze.

He smirked like the key to her very unmaking had been dropped into his waiting palm. "Oh no, lovely thing. I don't actually steal children. I accept the ones mortals toss away."

I was very, very willing to bet that we hadn't heard a complete answer yet.

"Ask again, Murph," I said.

The Goblin King's eyes flashed to me. I asked, very calmly, "Was Eliza taken on your order?"

"No," he said. "All children are taken at the will of the one who wished them away. That is how this works, Dresden."

Murphy seemed to get what I was going for, because she asked one more time: "Did your subject who emptied the cradle do it on your order?"

The Goblin King hissed. Not, I suspected, because he was revealing anything he didn't want to, but out of contrariness. He didn't like being pinned down and he didn't like being obviously checked to see if he was telling the truth.

"I do not order the thefts of mortal children. I grant the wishes of the mortals who cast their children aside — and as the phrasing of the wish is highly specific..." Here, he trailed off and shrugged. "There are very few mistakes."

"Does everyone get a chance to get their kid back?"

"Only the ones who say they didn't mean it or beg me not to take the child. What's said is said."

"How is that not kidnapping?"

"How is it not adoption?"

"Adoption is done with the parent's consent! It goes through legal channels — "

That was one of the things I loved about Murphy. At the moment it was kind of exasperating, but honestly, I admired it, too. She believed that absolutely no one was ever above the law. Her faith in it was so unshakable, so pure and perfect, that the Pope would have been jealous.

"But they wish their children away to the goblins. They give their children to my keeping, and you say that is not consent?"

"It's not signed, it's not witnessed, it's not thought through! Doesn't law mean anything to you?"

"Which law? Human law, which changes depending on what you call where you stand? Human law, which is passed on paper that crumbles into dust in an eyeblink, for one of my kind?" The Goblin King smiled in an expression that was at once predatory, flirtatious, and smug. "Nothing tra-la-la."

I looked at Murphy. Murphy looked at me. We decided not to ask what the hell 'nothing tra-la-la' meant.

The Goblin King stared first at Murphy, then at me. The flirtatious, predatory smile became a thin snarl. He was baring his teeth at me again.

"I've answered your questions, unless you'd like to waste more of my time? ...which I _don't_ advise."

Murphy blurted, "Is there any way I could trade for Eliza?"

The Goblin King peered at his gloves, smoothing the leather along one of his fingers. "Afraid not, lovely thing. Thirteen hours have passed in the Labyrinth. The child belongs to the fae, now."

"Then no more questions," Murphy said.

"Good." The Goblin King looked at me. "I have been generous, Dresden. But the next time you call on me, the matter of my wife's brother must be concluded to our satisfaction, and I will expect to hear your _very_ right words."

He didn't need to add an 'or else.' He also apparently didn't need to be dismissed in order to vanish from the circle. Quite frankly, it gave me the feeling he'd stayed inside the circle because it had amused him to do so, not because it had bound him.

See what I mean about wishing I'd just stayed the hell out of all this?


	4. Chapter 4

Murph and I went out for coffee. I tried to explain that sometimes you're just outmatched. She didn't much want to listen — a combination of her rock solid faith in the law and a flattering amount of faith in me.

But I got through. I hated every word I was saying. Of course I hated giving up on Eliza McPherson. But I've learned enough to be very, very choosy about my battles with the Sidhe.

If the thirteen hours had passed, then Eliza was either a goblin or had been placed with a fae family. A fae family who would cherish her the rest of their days. And the White Council wanted magic to stay mostly concealed, except where it couldn't — they wouldn't thank me for ripping a child away from a loving fae family to create some kind of quantum reality tangle in the mundane world.

After that, I went home. I didn't consult Bob. I scratched Mister behind the ears, fed him, and took Mouse for a walk. A very long walk. He seemed interested in everything.

When Mouse was done sniffing the air and the street lights and the fire hydrants, we went home. I fed Mouse and slept.

* * *

I slept for a long time. I woke up groggy, like I hadn't gotten a proper night's rest in days. I guess getting tangled in fae affairs and waiting for your fairy godmother to appear and register her displeasure will do that to you. It certainly didn't do me any favors.

I wound up getting to my office a little later than usual. I don't get many walk ins — people like to call and confirm that I'm actually a wizard first — so it normally wouldn't matter much.

Irene Williams was waiting for me on the fifth floor. In her arms she clutched a book.

I let her inside. Of course I did. She'd paid me three hundred dollars to have an argument with her step-daughter. Not to mention I was on "price of my continued existence" retainer with her... with her...

Oh god. The Goblin King was her son-in-law.

"Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?" I asked. Admittedly, it probably sounded less like words and more like the start of an avalanche, considering how tired I was.

"No, thank you," Irene said. She placed her big, heavy book on my desk and sat primly in the chair across from mine.

I shrugged and made myself some instant coffee. Then I sat down.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Williams?"

She picked up her book, leafed through until she found the right page, and then turned it around for me to read.

I scrubbed my eyes and looked down.

I did not like what I saw.

"You're not actually thinking of doing this."

"I'm not a wizard, so I can't." She stared expectantly at me, then traced one of her long, un-painted nails over the words SPELLE OF DISOWNMENT. "Is it a real spell? Would it work?"

I decided not to tell her that it didn't even need to be a real spell. Faerie are bound by words and rules and bargains and trade. The Williamses were Sarah's family because they'd never said they weren't. And they'd never said that because they believed they were.

The moment they said they weren't, the moment they said the formal words, "I disown you, you are no daughter of mine," they would be absolutely, one hundred percent, irrevocably _true_ for Sarah.

She would lose her window. She would lose Toby. And the Goblin King would lose his shit.

"It is," I said. "But it absolutely will not help. The Goblin King is... aware of the problem. He's older, more likely to be pragmatic. Let me talk to him, and I'll see if he can talk sense into Sarah."

Irene gave me a wistful look. "I just want it to be over. No more summoning goblins to do his chores. No more magical gifts. No more electronics going haywire. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in fear for Dave's. If talking to Jareth makes that happen, fine. But if it doesn't..."

"And if you piss off the Goblin King while simultaneously removing his ties of kinship to you, do you think that's going to stop things? Do you really think he's going to let it rest?"

"Worst case scenario, if Sarah's not our family anymore," Irene said, very quietly, "then he'll have no reason to have any interest in us."

Except for the part where Sarah would be distraught, and they would be the cause of her upset.

"You realize that this is going to hurt Sarah, right? And that hurting her is reason enough for him to be signficant-pause type invested in your welbeing — as in, making sure you don't have it? If you do this, you'll be lucky if you don't spend the rest of your life afraid for all three of you."

Irene paused. Her eyes turned cold for a few moments, expression going vague and distant as she thought. I began to wonder if some of the inhuman ruthlessness I'd seen in Sarah really had been instilled after Sarah married the Goblin King. Because looking at Irene now, I could easily believe she'd learned it before. 

"You make a good point." Irene sighed. "I don't _want_ to disown her. But if the threat will make her stop and think… I think it's got some worth as a bargaining chip."

Some people.

I was tempted to tell Irene to get out of my office and leave me alone. Problem was, I couldn't wash my hands of this. For one, I wanted to help her. Sarah was a kid in trouble, who'd made a desperate decision and was breaking herself on the consequences; Irene was desperately trying to keep her family together and her husband safe. 

For another, if I tried to butt out, the Goblin King would be significant-pause type invested in _my_ wellbeing. 

So I asked: "Bargaining chip?"

"Maybe," Irene said, that same trace of ruthlessness in her tone, "we should all meet and discuss where we'll go from here."

She'd finally come around to my way of thinking. So why wasn't I overjoyed?

* * *

Rather than try to call up the Goblin King, I called the Goblin Queen. And she was still human enough that I didn't dare use what I knew of her true name.

I drew a circle — not covered in salt — and placed sea shells and marbles at the cardinal points around it.

And then I wished for Sarah, Queen of the Goblins, to come talk to me _right now_.

Sarah appeared instantly, without the flashy fog or sudden chill. I did get the feeling, yet again, that I'd forgotten or lost something.

Sarah peered at me from behind the circle. I didn't actually expect her to try to do me harm, but better safe than sorry.

"Your step-mother," I told her, "would like to call a meeting at McAnally's."

Sarah smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Irene seemed taken aback by the prevalence of thirteens at Mac's.

"Isn't that an unlucky number?"

I shrugged. "It's lucky here. Good to have thirteen if you have a lot of magic in one place."

Thirteen tables, thirteen carved wood columms — there were even thirteen items on the menu. We found a sturdy looking table near the back and camped out there. I left Irene and Toby to sit alone and headed to the bar to place our orders. Mac cast a jaundiced look at Toby and raised an eyebrow.

"Not mine," I said.

Mac shrugged.

I went back to the table with a glass of milk for Toby. He looked small and spindly for the chair he sat in. 

I made polite chitchat while we waited for the royal couple of the Goblin Kingdom to show up.

Eventually, the door to Mac's opened. The two people who stepped in couldn't have seemed more bizarre: the Goblin King was short for a man and was, once again, rocking the 80's glam medieval armor. His wife was only slightly shorter than he was and wore a tee-shirt and jeans.

Sarah saw us first. She excitedly grabbed her husband by the wrist and dragged him over to our table. The look on his face suggested this was the first time his royal person had been manhandled like that in public and he was pretty sure he liked it.

Some people have all the luck.

"Irene, Toby, Harry," Sarah said when she reached us. Her voice was warm and friendly. She seemed genuinely happy to be there.

Irene seemed a little stiff, but she greeted them in turn. What I found interesting, though, was that Toby waved excitedly and said, "Hi Sarah, hi Jareth!"

The Goblin King's disgruntled expression softened immediately. "Good afternoon, Toby. A _pleasure_ to see you again, Karen."

"Irene." She said it tiredly, as if she was used to him getting her name wrong.

"Yes, of course. Irene." The Goblin King pulled out a chair for his wife, then sat down next to Toby. After a moment, he produced a small, gift-wrapped box from god only knew where. His pants were way too tight to have room for pockets.

"A gift for you, Toby," he said. At Irene's expression, he added, just a touch irritated, "Not magical. A gesture of good faith, mother-in-law."

Toby gave his Glittery Highness the puppy dog eyes, but asked, "May I open it now?"

Part of me was weirded out by how _polite_ Toby was. The rest of me was glad he was behaving so well. I didn't _think_ a child-snatcher would be easily annoyed by kids, but it wasn't a theory I wanted to test.

The King raised his brow at Irene, who nodded.

The wrapped toy was a simple Batman action figure. Toby grinned and thanked the Goblin King.

I handed Sarah a menu. "If you're hungry. I seem to recall being told not to eat fairy food."

"I'm not really human enough to be hungry anymore," she said. "But I wouldn't say no to a decent burger."

I grinned. "Well, McAnally's has that. Good beer, too."

Sarah made a face and grabbed the menu. "I've been drinking goblin ale for a year now." She flipped the menu over and blinked.

Mac only served his own brew. He had a couple of wines, though.

The Goblin King peered over Sarah's shoulder for a moment before briefly rolling his eyes. Then he turned to address Irene. "I don't see your husband. Do you speak for him?"

Irene nodded. "Yes. I'll speak for our whole household."

"Yourself and your husband, you mean. Young Toby can speak for himself."

"He's a child! He can't make informed decisions —"

"Then we won't ask him any difficult questions." The Goblin King gave a vicious, predatory smile. There was no trace of flirtation there; either he hated Irene or he was loath to flirt in front of his wife. "Now, the wizard informs me your husband is ill. His heart troubles him?"

"Yes. Ever since the… for about a year now, he's had a very worrisome irregular heartbeat."

"And you correct this matter by means of an electronic device placed within the heart?" The Goblin King rested a hand on Toby's head for a moment. "And if such a device were to malfunction...?"

"David could die," Irene whispered.

That didn't seem to surprise the Goblin King. He didn't even blink, only looked at Irene for a long moment before turning his gaze on Sarah.

Sarah looked up from the menu. Her hands had a fine tremor, and her green, green eyes had moistened with tears. I noticed that the shell and sea glass circlet was missing.

"And the magic messes with the pacemaker," Sarah said, softly. "I've been... I've been..."

"You're hardly a kinslayer _yet_ , precious thing," the Goblin King said, perfectly calm. "But it seems this state of affairs can't continue."

 _That_ was a tricky statement. Classic Sidhe. He could have been talking about Sarah's habit of visiting unwarned and giving gifts that left magical charges. Or he could have been talking about the fact that Sarah hadn't killed her father yet.

"What's worse," I told Sarah, "the faerie gifts you've been giving Toby have been… imbuing him with a magical charge. The more gifts you give him, the more magic will gather around him." I trailed off.

"So now even poor Toby could accidentally hurt Dad," Sarah said, softly.

But the Goblin King was looking hard at his younger brother-in-law. He reached out with one hand, chucking Toby under his surprisingly pointy chin with a thumb and peering into his eyes.

"Oh, it hasn't been the gifts, Dresden. They haven't helped matters, but they're simply bringing an entirely different problem to the fore." The Goblin King sighed. "I should have considered this earlier, but after I re-ordered the car crash, Damon seemed in perfect health."

"David," Sarah corrected. "Dad's name is David."

I leaned forward over the table. "What entirely different problem are we talking about?"

The Goblin King looked up at me. His lopsided, insane eyes were bright. His expression was matter-of-fact. "As Sarah's younger brother, Thomas Henry Williams is the closest thing to issue that the Goblin Kingdom has. He is our heir presumptive."

"He's human," I snapped. "There is no way humans can inherit kingdoms in the Nevernever."

"No, he isn't. Like Sarah, he's become something slightly more in the last year. Since the moment Sarah's priest declared us man and wife."

Looking at the Goblin King sitting side by side with Toby, I could see it. Separate, I hadn't seen any sort of resemblance — but now? The Goblin King's features were just as angular, just sharp as Toby's. Toby's hair was darker, not as unruly, and his eyes were a different, more mortal shade of blue.

But the resemblance was there. And it was uncanny. If I'd had money that wasn't going to rent, pet food, and firewood for my stove, I'd have bet it all that the resemblance hadn't been nearly so pronounced until the Goblin King married Toby's sister.

Stars and stones, I thought. This new piece of information felt huge; I wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Heir presumptive to the Goblin Kingdom?" Irene's tone was brittle, torn between despair and disbelief. "What does that even mean?"

His Glittery Highness waved a hand in a lazy and somewhat vague gesture. "It means that until Sarah and I have children of our own — which may be some time — Toby is a Prince of the Goblin Kingdom." After a moment, he added, "Hm, he might always be a prince. I'd have to ask my master of ceremonies."

I got the feeling the royal family hadn't consisted of more than one person in several hundred years. Just a guess, though.

"You mean David is always going to be in danger?"

Sarah looked from the Goblin King to Toby, then to me, and finally she looked at Irene. "Yes," she said, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the pieces are in play, now. Eager to see what you make of them.


	6. Chapter 6

From the look on both Sarah's and Irene's faces, I wasn't the only one with a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach. If the Goblin wasn't leaving anything out, then I couldn't see what there was to do about Toby.

Not without Irene disowning Sarah, which would no doubt royally cheese off the Goblin King. (Pun intended.)

"Can't he abdicate?"

The Goblin King looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at the Goblin King.

Silence stretched out. Toby looked from his sister to his brother-in-law, then looked at his mother, and finally at me. None of us said anything.

At last, the Goblin King said, "Until there is another heir… no. There is no conscious choice involved in being heir presumptive. It simply happens. As for the other method? Toby should, by all rights, have a voice in that."

Irene let out a choked sob. I wanted to touch her somehow, find a way to comfort her. But there was no way to be comforting about this.

After a few more moments, Irene pulled her purse out from under her chair and dug through it. It was one of those huge, chunky affairs full of all the things women apparently need in today's world. I've never understood that, actually — how much does a woman really _need_ to carry around?

At last, Irene set her huge, guaranteed-to-piss-off-the-Goblin-King book down on the table with a _whump_. She opened it and started flipping through pages. Every now and then she licked her finger to turn a page. Before long, she'd found her _Spelle of Disownment_.

She turned the book around and slid it to her step-daughter and son-in-law. (I was pretty sure I was never going to wrap my brain around the fact that a Sidhe was a whatever-in-law to a family of humans.)

"Would this work?"

"Irene, this is a spell." Sarah laid her fingers on the thin, worn paper. "You can't cast spells."

The Goblin King narrowed his eyes. "She doesn't need to. Provided she means them, the words are enough."

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look like I wasn't going to put up with typical Sidhe unwillingness to give straight answers. "That doesn't answer the question, Goblin King."

"Eradicate the relationship between Sarah and Toby — make him not her brother — and yes, Irene's purpose would be fulfilled. He would no longer be heir presumptive of the Underground. And _again_ , Toby should by all rights have a voice in this."

The Goblin King's eyes hadn't widened and his voice was low. Just this side of menacing. He was ramping up very quickly from 'royally unhappy' to 'royally pissed enough to melt faces.'

"Toby is a seven years old. David and I are his parents. It's our right to make this decision for him," Irene said.

I got the strangest feeling that, for once, mine wasn't the face an angry Sidhe wanted to melt.

I knew there was no way a disownment would end well. Sarah might accept it, but it would hurt her. Which was really all Jareth needed to work up a serious case of grudge. Not than any Sidhe grudge was ever mild. Problem was, horrible as Irene and David disowning Sarah would be, I just couldn't see any way out of it if Toby didn't want to be permanently separated from his father.

"Sarah, it might be for the best," I said. I kept my voice gentle. I felt for the poor kid, I really did.

Sarah nodded. There were tears in her eyes.

Irene reached across the table to hold Sarah's hand one last time. She turned her face to look at the Goblin King. "What do I have to say?"

"Your right words."

"I don't know what those are." 

"Then you shan't be disowning Sarah today."

"Jareth," Sarah said, softly. "It's alright. I'll be alright. Just go ahead and tell her. Toby deserves…Toby deserves better than this sorry situation."

The Goblin King looked at Sarah for a long moment. He was still looking at her when he told Irene, "You speak for yourself and Dylan? Then tell her you disown her and she is no daughter of yours."

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple."

I couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding. There was something missing. Something I wasn't taking into account. But I couldn't think what it was. Toby might have needed a voice if it had been really his decision. But if his parents severed the link, then she wasn't his sister anymore. It didn't really matter what he thought of it. It certainly worked that way in more mundane families, and they weren't using magic to effect the change.

Irene took a deep breath and let it out. She shivered, made the breath sound uneven and rattling. She squeezed Sarah's hand and let go.

"Sarah," she said. Her voice caught on a sob but she took another deep breath. "I disown you. You're not our daughter anymore."

I should have felt something, some fundamental part of Sarah's nature changing. But there was nothing. Sarah was the same mostly-human changling-like thing she'd been since I met her, and the Goblin King wasn't mightily pissed off.

The Goblin King inspected his gloves for a few moments while Sarah just looked perplexed.

Sarah looked to the Goblin King. "Something went wrong there."

"Those weren't the right words," he replied, in a bored tone. "Care to try again, Irene? Try using her full name. Maybe a prettier turn of phrase."

"Sarah Galadriel Williams, Queen of the Goblins," she said, voice shaking, "on behalf of myself and my husband, Robert David Williams, I disown you. You are no daughter of ours."

Something shivered in the magic around us.

Ever had one of those moments where the air around you trembles and holds its breath? Like the entire universe is waiting to see what happens next? Yeah, it felt like that.

Sarah's expression turned flinty and remote. She traced her fingers in a circle on the table. I watched ice form in trails after her fingers. The ice gave off steam, and the steam became —

The seashell and silver wire circlet, accented with beads of sea glass.

Sarah re-arranged her hair, letting it fall long and dark down her back, and then pulled the circlet down low on her forehead.

And the Goblin King smiled. It was not a nice smile. He looked like he'd finally decided precisely how he wanted to eviscerate Irene Williams.

"Goblin King, this is neutral ground," I said, half-standing and reaching for my blasting rod.

He flicked a glance at me. Within the next instant he dismissed me as unimportant. Instead, he shrugged and said, "I am not a signatory of the Accords."

"We should change that," the Goblin Queen murmured.

"Perhaps when we're done here." His smile turned from satisfied to downright vicious. "Irene, Irene, Irene. I warned you, you know. Young Toby has a voice in this. Sarah is still his sister."

I looked at Toby and almost groaned. Nothing about him had changed. He still resembled the Goblin King more than his sister or his mother. He was still too sharp, too pointy, to be entirely human.

The Goblin Queen reached over to hold her little brother's hands.

"Toby, can you say it?"

"Say what?"

"Toby," Irene said, voice tight and urgent. "Toby, repeat after me —"

"He has to _mean_ it, Irene. Toby, can you honestly tell Sarah that you don't love her or want her to be your sister anymore and mean it? If you don't, you'll make your father very ill."

Toby stared at us all like a frightened rabbit.

"It's okay to be honest, Toby," the Goblin Queen said. "Just tell us what you want. Use your right words."

He screwed up his face like he was going to cry.

And then he shot all Irene's plans and fears to hell with eleven words.

"I wish Sarah would stay my sister for ever and ever."

The Goblin Queen smiled. She bent to press kisses to the backs of each of Toby's hands, and said, "Granted. Would you like to come live with Jareth and me in the Goblin City?"

Toby nodded. "Do I have to say my right words?"

"No!" Irene shrieked. "No, Jareth can't have him. You won him back, he can't just be taken —"

I had to pull her away from the Goblin Queen. If she actually managed to strike out at her, the Goblin King would strike out with magic. A lot of magic. The kind of magic that would have brought the building down on our heads for harming one hair on Sarah's.

"Say your right words," the Goblin Queen whispered.

Toby lifted his chin, looked at Jareth and Sarah, and said, with far too much gravity for a seven-year-old, "I wish I could go and live in the Goblin Kingdom with Jareth and Sarah right now."

The candles flickered out.

When they winked back to life, the Goblin Queen and Toby were gone.

Irene sank to her knees and cried helplessly, as if broken. Tears streaked down her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise. She was shaking, trembling, rocking back and forth from either the force of her sobbing or the force of her feelngs.

"Foolish, foolish woman," the Goblin King said. He drew himself up to his full height.

It wasn't an impressive height. I was taller than him by head and shoulders. But he wasn't trying to intimidate.

His voice was disdainful.

"You thought you could give me your husband's child to save yours. Never thinking about consequences, never thinking about how much you would hurt your husband and my own wife in your absolute desperation to keep the status quo of the last year."

"No, it wasn't like that." Irene shook her head.

"You wanted Sarah gone, and Toby and David to be all yours. If not away at college, then locked in the Underground with me. Me, to whom you owe your life."

"I was trying to _save_ David —"

"Not even I," he said, very softly, "can cheat death. And now you have lost both children to me. "

The Goblin King spun his hand through the air. Mist formed, solidified into a big giant marble.

"Will I have to wait long to see him?" She was still sniffling.

"If you take this outside and break it," the Goblin King said, "then no. Not long at all."

She took the crystal, shouldered her purse, and left McAnally's.

Jareth spun another crystal out of thin air and mist, then lobbed it at me. I jerked back instinctively, but it broke before it even touched me.

The candles flickered out. I felt the ground hit when I went down.


	7. Chapter 7

It had seemed to rain constantly for the past day or so. As it was, I sat in my office and watched droplets strike, fall, crawl down the glass. I was glad to be inside with a comfortable chair and a cup of hot instant coffee.

But getting rid of the rain, though it might have improved my mood, would not pay nearly as well as getting an actual job. My rent was taken care of — must have been more thrifty than I'd thought this month — but getting a little ahead, when that's possible, is never a bad idea. 

I was just settling in to try and figure out why _New Moon_ was in my to-read pile and _Twilight_ was in my cardboard box of books I'd already read when my door swung open.

I looked up to see a man with dark hair and a well-fitted suit stride across the floor.

"It says you're a wizard on your door," he said, uncertain.

"I am. My name's Harry Dresden, and you are?" I stood, extending my hand.

He shook it. "David Williams."

His eyes were a pale, grassy green. I would hardly have noticed — I try not to look at eyes much — but they really stood out behind dark brown bangs. He had a horseshoe on a string around his neck. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Williams?"

"David, please," he said.

I held out a hand for him to take a seat so I could sit in my own chair behind my desk. 

He seated himself, briefly touching a hand to his heart. His face betrayed a slight pain, but it seemed to ease after a moment. Something about his cheekbones looked awfully familiar. Or maybe it was his clean-shaven jawline.

"I'm looking for my son. He's seven years old."

"Pardon my asking, but have you tried the police?" It's what people usually do when their young children are missing. Not many come to me.

"That's the problem." He bit his lip and swallowed audibly, like there was a lump in his throat. "You see, nobody seems to remember that Toby exists. Not even my wife, Irene — his mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. To the people who were expecting death: no death. But this is such pain that I think death would be redundant.
> 
> To everyone else, thank you for reading and following along. It's been a fun ride for me. Probably less so for you.


End file.
